Verity and the Villain

by Eloise Alden

  “Your question?” Trent studied her face. She could feel him watching her for signs of deception. He didn’t trust her any more than she trusted him. Why would he?

  “Why did you break into Steele’s room?”

  He grinned and she itched for her umbrella. “Do not tell me you went solely to please me, I won’t believe you.”

  “Then perhaps you won’t believe my honest answer.”

  “Do you have honest answers?” She remembered the bag of jewels she’d seen that night in his coach. Since Tilly had told her that his family was one of the oldest and best established in Seattle, she no longer believed that he’d stoop to petty larceny. Unless their family had seen a reversal of fortune. Possible, and yet, looking into his open face, she couldn’t believe it.

  “I’m not so different from you,” he began.

  She shook her head, looking away, remembering Steele’s blood staining the New York carpet. “We’re very different,” she said.

  “We’re both looking for lost friends,” he said. “My cousin, in fact, was last seen in Steele’s company.”

  “Your cousin?” Verity looked into his face and his proximity surprised her. She had to take a step back but didn’t let go of his arm.

  “Gracey Nolan. She’d been performing at the theater and one evening she left with Steele and hasn’t been seen since.”

  Verity took a step back, thinking. “But I’m afraid that doesn’t fit.”

  “Why not?”

  Verity continued. “That we’re aware of, all of the missing girls haven’t family or connections.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  Verity corrected herself. “I don’t think he would dare take your cousin.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think he would risk offending you. But, of course, you could go there…”

  “Yes,” he said through tight lips. “I had thought of that.”

  “There are about fifty girls. A new one every week, it’d take you almost a year.” A small vein had begun to pulse in his neck and she felt sorry for having teased him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You must be worried about your cousin. That was thoughtless of me.”

  He frowned and looked out over the bluff to the Sound. Lights from boats and ships cast long shimmering beams over the water. “I found her necklace in his safe,” he said. “She was wearing it the night she disappeared. Steele probably didn’t know she had family close by. Gracey and my grandmother had quarreled. She could have told him she didn’t have family. Perhaps in her mind, she didn’t.”

  The necklace explained. “Is that why your sister performs at the theater?”

  Trent gave her a lopsided grin. “No, she does it for the thrill of the craft.”

  Verity bit back a grimace. Chloe had the stage presence of a pony--pretty, eager, and yet clumsy and bumbling. Anything in a dress could secure a spot on a Seattle stage.

  “How long has she been missing?” Verity wondered if she’d ever seen Gracey.

  “Almost three months,” Trent said. “Gram’s frantic.”

  “Does Steele know you’re looking for her?”

  Trent seemed to be considering. “Perhaps.” He cleared his throat. “Why did you say ‘we’?” he repeated. “And how do you know how many girls work there?”

  Verity swallowed as she watched a dark figure in a swirling cape emerge from the hotel’s wide double doors and pause on the steps. He looked over the garden and Verity could see his chiseled profile, the long shadow he cast over the hotel brick walk. Would he always haunt her? She took a deep breath and clutched Trent’s arm.

  “Follow me,” she whispered, pulling at Trent’s sleeve. She raised the hood of her cloak and hurried down the path, unaware if Trent had followed or not. She took a path that led to the side of the hotel. Careful to keep her footing on the uneven bricks, she stopped at the kitchen garden’s picket fence. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw that Trent had followed. As well as Steele.

  Trent pulled her to him as she lifted her skirts and attempted to step into the garden. “There’s a fence for a reason,” Trent said.

  “Yes, to keep out rodents.” Verity shook off his arm.

  Trent tightened his hold, forcing her to straddle the knee-high fence which held her skirts and exposed her ankles. He watched Steele and then turned back to Verity. “Why are you running from him?”

  Verity struggled and yet kept her face averted from the approaching Steele. “I’m not.”

  “Michaels!” Steele called from across the grounds. “A word!”

  “Perhaps you are the one running,” Verity said over her shoulder, her face averted from the lights streaming from the hotel. Verity stopped resisting, forcing herself to relax. With her head turned away she whispered, “You should see what he needs.”

  “Will you accompany me?”

  Verity swallowed.

  Trent’s grip tightened. “I thought not. You would have me leave you alone in the dark?”

  Verity waved her arm in the general direction of the crowd emerging from the hotel’s double doors. The moon, somewhere beneath the clouds, had risen to its zenith. The hour was late and those who had attended the ball trooped down the broad steps. “I’m hardly alone.”

  When Trent remained at her side, Verity felt relief despite her fear of discovery. She didn’t want Trent’s disapproval. She didn’t know what she wanted from him, but she knew exactly what she didn’t want from Steele. First of all, she didn’t want to be seen and discovered. She pulled her cloak around her face and hurried down the path until her skirt snagged on the fence and she tripped.

  Basil. She must have stepped in basil, because she could smell it.

  Trent caught her before she fell. He held her a few moments, as if uncertain. Her heart beat fast and hard as she pressed her face against Trent’s chest. Time slowed, Steele disappeared, and in Trent’s arms she felt safe and warm. She raised her face to his and saw him watching her, curiosity and something else in his eyes.

  If he kissed her, perhaps Steele would go away. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, to draw away, not interrupt a romantic tryst. She didn’t know why Steele sought Trent, but she knew Steele mustn’t find her alive and well in Seattle. Kissing would hide her face. Perhaps Steele would leave. Blood flushed her cheeks. A kiss, a meeting of lips, it needn’t mean anything more than a diversion. Of sorts. “Will you please kiss me?” she asked, her voice came out small and breathy.

  When Trent didn’t respond, Verity slowly pulled away, unsure if he’d heard her mumbled request. She wondered what his kiss would feel like, the security she’d felt in his arms moments ago, would it return? Could a kiss banish the nervy jumpiness that tingled through her, or would a kiss make it worse, heighten the emotions that were already strung so tightly she felt ready to shatter? She could, of course, step away, move out of his reach, away from his heat. With an exertion of will, she took a step back, but then he tightened his hold on her and drew her against his chest. He used his finger to tilt her chin and then he brushed her lips with his.

  BETTE

  Rose Arbor, Washington

  The bell rings, jarring me back to present day. I set the book aside and then, as an afterthought, tuck it beneath a stack of letters. If it had a book jacket, it’d probably be sporting Fabio and a scantily clad miss. Kiss me or ravish me—please, what was Verity thinking?

  At that moment, I’m completely disgusted by Verity and Trent’s behavior. She shouldn’t have offered herself and he shouldn’t have taken her. They’d had Steele bearing upon them and they stop to smooch in the kitchen garden? Next stop, the barn for a roll in the hay.

  I look out the window and see Eve and Bill on my front porch. I’d forgotten about them. I need to know what happened next,1889 next, but I’d also made a promise to the Porters.

  A hallmark of a responsible adult is the ability to make yourself do the thing you have to do, when it ought to be done, whether you like it or not. Sensible adults do n
ot ask to be ravished in gardens. And maybe, sensible adults don’t read about such behavior. Still, I give the pile of research on my dining room table a cautious and longing glance before opening the door.

  If I shoo them away, my work might be safe from Eve’s questions. Eve, the editor of the Rose Arbor Register, has a nose for news. Old news, smelly news, juicy news, she has a radar that can pick up on anything of interest. Not that my writing the life history of Verity Faye after Dot’s death is noteworthy or remarkable. Surely, it isn’t worthy of the pages of the Rose Arbor Register.

  Although a theft could make page one. If a new stop signal, the third in town, can make the front page, surely the theft of a nineteenth-century diary would do the same.

  I give myself a small shake to rattle in some sense and answer the door, reassuring myself Eve won’t find the diary. Odious probably doesn’t even know it exists, let alone that it’s been stolen. Borrowed.

  Eve and Billy wear smiles almost as bright as their cruise wear. They’re going to Alaska, not the Caribbean, and since it’s early June, sweaters, and tamaracks would be more in order than a coral colored mini-skirt and a pair of knee-exposing Bermuda shorts. Some people’s legs just look better beneath pants. Glancing at their eager faces, I feel mine fall. I try to pick it up. “Bon voyage!” I say, and my voice sounds off. “All set to sail?”

  Eve and Billy look at each other and then grin back at me. “Surprise!”

  I stare at them, and Eve uses my momentary confusion to push her way in my door. Billy, the high school’s football coach, wears their luggage around his shoulders and under his arms like football equipment.

  “We know you said you didn’t want to go,” Billy begins, unloading the bags on my front porch.

  “But we called the cruise line and it’s not too late for you to change your mind,” Eve chirps, casting a questioning look at my house plants as if contemplating their ability to survive my prolonged absence.

  “There’s still availability!” Billy booms.

  Eve gives me a little push toward the stairs. “What are you waiting for? Go pack your bags!”

  I shake my head and firmly plant my feet. Usually, I can be easily swayed by Eve’s suggestions, swaying, after all, being so much easier than withstanding, but I have no intention of going to Alaska with them. “I can’t go.”

  Eve puts her hands on her hips and gives me the no-nonsense look that has intimidated English students for the past twenty years. “That’s why we’re so early.”

  “You’re early?”

  “Silly, we don’t need to board for another 3 hours.”

  “I thought you wanted to get there—”

  Eve takes my hand. Billy pushes into the entry and Eve pulls me toward my bedroom. I dig in my heels and skitter a few inches on the hardwood floor.

  “Look, we planned on going together. Let’s go!” Billy uses his football voice.

  “Come on!” Eve urges. “You’ve gotten so skinny! A little cruise cuisine will do you good.”

  I shake my head again, feeling like a bobblehead doll, and pull away. “I can’t go,” I repeat. Not without Gregg. My gaze travels from Eve’s grim expression to Billy’s I-knew-it-wasn’t-going-to-fly look.

  Eve places her hands on her substantial hips and the mini-skirt shifts. “You give me one good reason to stay and I’ll give you a hundred reasons to go.”

  “I don’t want to—”

  “You can afford it.” Eve ticks off one finger.

  Isn’t that amazing? After all the years of getting by on a public school salary, I suddenly have a million dollars in the bank. I think about Gregg and my heart aches. The cost of the life insurance policy had been financially cheap, but emotionally steep. Every day I miss him is a day I continue to pay.

  “The library—”

  “I already talked with Laura.”

  My shoulders sag. “I don’t want to play this game.” How can I tell my friends that I find their company painful? Just their coupleness reminds me of what and who I’d lost. The way they lean against each other, finish each other’s sentences, bump and move together as if they are two halves of one person. They remind me that a part of me is missing.

  I feel worse than if I’d lost a leg or an arm. Gregg’s personality had been large enough for both of us. I don’t know who I am without him. I can’t vacation without him. If I don’t know who I am at home lodged in a familiar routine, how can I know who to be in Alaska? Besides, the cruise had been Gregg’s dream, not mine. Hunting, fishing, hiking--I would have enjoyed it, but I wouldn’t have necessarily chosen it. Which brings me back to the question--what would I have chosen? Given the choice? And I suddenly realize, I have the choice…all the choices…and I don’t want Alaska.

  My gaze flashes toward my research spilling over the dining room table. All I really want to do is stay at home and read…about someone else’s life. It’s much easier and less painful than living my own. Turning, I grab my keys from the entry table drawer.

  “Let’s get you two to the cruise ship,” I say. Mentally I add, I’m a sad sack and poor company. I’m better off at home.

  CHAPTER 11

  Sleep Potion

  Mix honey and apple cider vinegar together. Stir in hot milk. Add the oil from crushed snapdragon seeds and let steep.

  From the Recipes of Verity Faye

  “How was that?” he asked, his lips hovering above hers.

  She shook her head, moving her lips from his reach. “Please don’t misunderstand…”

  He leaned into her, his lips molding to hers. His mouth tasted warm and slightly of roasted chestnuts. She needed his arms to keep her standing and she fought a dizzying desire. Languid and warm, she leaned into him. A niggling warning somewhere deep within her sounded, but she pushed it away.

  His lips traveled down her neck. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked, breath and lips against her throat. His hands slipped beneath her cloak and spanned her waist. His lips found hers again and he kissed her, bending her backward, leaning over her, crushing her body into his.

  Verity peeked over Trent’s shoulder as his lips trailed down her neck. Steele had been joined by about fifty people. The ballroom crowd had filled the sidewalks. Several men gave long cat call whistles, and women tittered and giggled into their gloves. Verity buried her face into Trent’s chest and he didn’t push her away but held her loosely. She wanted to disappear, to lean into him so that she melted, merged into him. She could easily take one step back, even a half step away and the magic would end.

  Trent slipped his coat over her shoulders and led her through the garden, away from the gawkers on the sidewalk. He leaned down and whispered into her hair. “I’m afraid they’ll be whispering about you tomorrow.”

  They passed the garden and stopped beside the stables where only the horses could hear or see them. They stood at the edge of a pasture. Moonlight sparkled on the tall grass and fell on the trees at the edge of the wood. From the stables came the warm breath and noises of the large, gentle creatures.

  Verity’s cheeks burned. “You mean us; they’ll be whispering about us.” She tightened her cloak and pushed her curls back into her hood. “I’m not sure anyone saw my face.”

  “What is Steele to you?” Trent asked.

  “He’s a business owner, the holder of several properties—” she gasped midsentence when Trent took her back into his arms.

  He bent over her, supporting her and yet holding her so that if he let go she’d fall into the tall grass. His lips trailed down the side of her neck and stopped where she could feel her blood skittering beneath his warmth. He whispered into her hair, “After you explain to me your interest in Steele, you’ll take me to meet the other half of your ‘we’.”

  “And what if I don’t?” she asked, trying to steady her voice, trying to sound calm, despite her emotions. If she tried to stand, he would drop her and she’d fall. Common sense, propriety, and her upbringing gave a warning jingle, but she wanted to stay in hi
s warmth.

  Pulling away, he chuckled as she instinctively followed, clinging to his spell. “You will.”

  #

  “Who is she?” Chloe tapped her foot, folded her arms and wore the same expression as she had ten years ago when he’d painted her cat, Gargoyle, green. Gargoyle had eaten Chester, the mouse he’d rescued from his grandmother’s traps and had kept hidden in an orange crate in the barn. In Trent’s opinion, Gargoyle had deserved the new fur-do.

  Chloe toyed with her nails and looked a lot like Gargoyle sharpening her claws. “If you refuse to talk, I’ll tell Gram and she’ll wiggle it out of you.”

  “Too late, I’m afraid. I’m sure she’s already heard.” Trent refused to be goaded, sat back against the cushion, watched his sister, and waited for her next ploy.

  Chloe leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. She swayed with the rocking coach. “But none of the juicy bits.” Her eyes sparkled with questions. “Or, should I say, bites.”

  “It’s not what you think,” Trent said, trying to dismiss Verity’s memory.

  Chloe arched her eyebrows. “I think it’s horrible that I had to hear about my own brother’s dalliance from a member of the stage crew.”

  “She’s not a dalliance.”

  Chloe leaned back, grinning. “Oh, I see. You really like this one.”

  He wouldn’t comment, but looked out the window and watched the wet world flash by. He hated making Mugs and the horses subject to the weather, but if he waited for a clear day it could be several months, and he didn’t want to wait another hour. “She’s helping me look for Gracey.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true. She suspects someone is kidnapping girls and taking them to Lucky Island against their will.” He wished his sister didn’t know of Lucky Island, but perhaps ignorance wasn’t bliss, it was just, well, ignorance. Not knowing left her weak and vulnerable.

  That had always been his Gram’s philosophy. Barnyard brains, she called it, insisting children, male or female, shouldn’t be spared from the beasty-side of farm living. Slaughtering, breeding, molting--as children they’d been introduced to the gritty facts of life. Their unsentimental Gram had served their pet rabbits for dinner and shot the lame horses. He wished he could spare Chloe what he suspected of Gracey’s disappearance. He would as long as he could.